


Blind Bet

by mikeneko



Category: Out of the Past (1947)
Genre: Canon - Movie, Yuletide, challenge:yuletide2009, recipient:proteinscollide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:10:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikeneko/pseuds/mikeneko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff Bailey knew who he was looking for, and why he was looking. But he was wrong all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Bet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [proteinscollide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/proteinscollide/gifts).



> _Out of the Past_. Robert Mitchum, Jane Geer, and Kirk Douglas. Directed by Jacques Tourneur, screenplay by Daniel Mainwaring. RKO Radio Pictures, 1947. Thank you to both readers, David Hines for stiff beta, and Cedara for smacking my typos. So much gratitude. Remaining mistakes belong to me.

_Blind Bet_ \--In horse racing, diversionary wagering in which bookmakers work to shorten the odds on their main horse of interest by placing sizeable bets on a different horse.  


* * *

> _"You remember Kathie, don't you?"  
> "Yeah. I remember Kathie . . ."  
> "Kathie's back in the fold now. You're back in the fold, too, Jeff.  
> "I see what you mean."  
> "You see, Jeff, you owe me something. You'll never be happy until you square yourself."_

***

Jeff Bailey turns just as Kathie Moffat strides through the door onto the terrace. For an endless moment he's stunned, rooted to the spot as she takes her place at the breakfast table. Her cautious, beseeching expression for him flickers into a resentful glance at Whit Sterling.

At that moment, Jeff realizes that he's had his answers all along. He'd simply been asking the wrong questions.

Whit watches them both avidly. He smiles.

* * *

> _"Why me?"  
> "Well, I know a lot of smart guys, and a few honest ones. And you're both."_

***

Jeff Markham had been keeping Whit Sterling apprised of his progress as Jeff tracked down the man's errant paramour, Kathie Moffat, but Jeff figured this would be his last report. He'd sure miss that final payment, but he couldn't help but feel a tinge of relief.

"Mexico! Now that's unexpected," Whit said. "Or, on second thought, maybe it isn't. She never did like the cold."

"So I can give you what I have," Jeff said. "You can pick it up from there with your own people."

"Why, what do you mean? You seem pretty anxious to conclude our business, Mr. Markham," Whit said. He settled back into his desk chair, studying Jeff. "May I ask why that is?"

Jeff shifted, and helped himself to a temporizing drag on his cigarette. With each visit to Sterling's mansion, Jeff's initial uneasiness with this whole job hadn't wavered; instead, he felt like he was out at sea in a fog, the current tugging him in directions he didn't care to navigate. "You look like you're in the pink these days," he said, a gesture to Whit's bandaged bullet wound. "I figured you'd want to take charge of this yourself, rather than footing my paid vacation south of the border."

"Oh, I do appreciate your concern for my health, Jeff," Whit said with a faint smile.

"Oh, it's not concern for you." Jeff lifted his whiskey glass, and swirled the contents. "It's for my expense account."

Whit's bark of laughter startled Jeff. "Now, see? Honesty is _refreshing._" Whit grinned at Stefanos in the corner, where his right-hand man had been slouching in an armchair. "Isn't that right, Joe?"

"Like a cool breeze," Stefanos agreed. "I got goosebumps." He looked at Jeff expressionlessly for a moment before adding, "Or maybe they're hives."

"Lots of people seem to have that reaction to me," Jeff said.

Whit chuckled to himself then slid open a desk drawer. "So go treat your allergy to some medication at the bar, Joe," he said proffering a five spot from the drawer. "I want to chew the fat with our Mr. Markham a little longer."

It was clear enough that, as usual, Stefanos didn't want to leave; the lingering stare at Jeff as he hooked the bill from Sterling's hand spelled out exactly what he'd rather be doing. But he'd soft-footed his way out the door, hat in hand, in less time than it took Jeff to put together a decent sneer in response.

"So tell me," Whit said, "why are you so sure she's in Mexico?"

"A chat with the maid," Jeff said.

"The maid," Whit repeated softly. "Oh yes. We let her go. Now what was her name again?"

As Whit's expression darkened, Jeff realized he'd inadvertently tossed Eunice to the wolves. "It's nothing on her," he said. "Far as she knows, Kathie's sunning herself on a beach in Florida. No, what she told me was something you didn't, which was that Kathie'd been to the doctor a few weeks before she left."

Whit blinked. "The doctor? What about it? She said she had a stomachache."

"Yeah, she had one all right. But her visit was a cover for the cause, not the cure. I stopped in to lay some monetary appreciation on the nurse, and sure enough: Kathie got all the recommended vaccinations. That's what laid her up for a few days."

"Vaccinations," Whit said. He clapped his hands, and said appreciatively, "You're good, Jeff. Smart. I _like_ that."

"Stop, I'm blushing," Jeff said sourly. "Jack spent an afternoon chatting up porters at Grand Central, and I've spent a few days on the phone trying to stretch out "Hablas inglés?" into an entire conversation. There's only so much anyone can do without being on the spot."

"Next stop, Mexico City," Whit agreed.

"Me or somebody," Jeff said.

"All right then," Whit said. He lifted the decanter on his desk and carefully poured out another finger into both their tumblers. "I pick you. By that, I mean only you. You, I trust."

"Yeah, Jack wouldn't be much use anyway. I'd already figured on leaving him behind to keep the home fires burning."

Whit grinned at him. "Stoking the home fires with the wifey and at our office girl," he drawled. "Quite the fireman, your partner."

Jeff, who'd been reaching for his glass, stiffened, then covered it with a careful, "Seems you know a lot about our business."

"Seems you know a lot about mine now," Whit replied pleasantly. "Only seems fair that it's mutual, wouldn't you agree?"

Jeff allowed himself a stiff gulp before he considered that. "While we're admiring each other's business here, maybe you'd care to shine up a few more details."

Whit grinned and spread his hands. "Ask away, Mr. Markham."

"Why this dame? What's so damn special about her?"

"I told you--"

"I know what you told me," Jeff cut him off. "Now we're down to it, let's try some truth on for size. You said it's not about the money. I can believe that, with you shelling out this much for bloodhounds. But not a penny you're paying will buy my way out of the pen when I'm hauled in as an accessory."

Whit's expression was a careful show of hurt feeling. "It's not like that."

"No? Then what's it like? I'd like to know."

"Look around you," Whit said, his gesture expansive. "All this, it's mine. Winning is my trade, Jeff."

"What you're saying is you're a sore loser."

"What I'm saying is I'm a businessman," he said impatiently. "Do you remember the horse?"

"Your shaggy horse tale? Sure," Jeff said. "What of it?"

"My losing horse that won me forty grand," Whit pointed out. "No one's a sore loser if they're smart enough not to lose. But there's no point if you can't turn your winnings into quality assets."

"And this, Kathie, she's another horse to you?"

"A thoroughbred," Whit said, tone shading into reverence. "I assure you, when I acquire quality, I have no intention of damaging it. Or letting it run lose."

Jeff knew that wasn't the whole of it, but he supposed it would have to be good enough. He downed the dregs from his tumbler and was lifting his hat, when Whit added, casually, "I'm extending that to you as well."

"Extending what to me?" Jeff said slowly, sensing the conversation shifting to the more dangerous path he'd been skirting since they'd met.

"A quality asset," Whit said. "I consider myself pretty lucky to have found you."

"Funny. I wasn't aware I was ever on the market."

"Everyone's on the market," Whit said. "It's just a matter of negotiating a reasonable exchange." He studied Jeff over the rim of his glass. "So tell me--would you turn down a reasonable offer?"

Jeff blinked and smoothed the rim of his hat. "What I think," he said, "is that I'm on your dime these days, even if I'm not worth the dime. But I'm more than willing to walk out of here a much poorer man if it comes to that."

"Don't sell yourself short, Jeff." Whit grinned at him, clearly delighted. "Smart, honest, and principled. Good looking on top of that," he added, wonderingly. "How have you managed to survive this long in New York?"

"Just unlucky, I guess," Jeff said curtly. He'd had enough. He was already on his feet when Whit held up a staying hand.

"Cards on the table, then," he said. "Consider it my going-away present. See, guess I'm allergic, too -- but when I have an itch, I scratch it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. How about you?"

Jeff considered his options. "Maybe I'm still concerned about my expense account," he said finally, a pointed nod to the bandages peeking over the shirt buttons. "That'd be a pretty big hole in it, if you're not up to the payout."

Whit laughed at him again. "This little scratch? Markham, I've had worse than this."

"Rough trade you're in."

"It is indeed. But I meant my extended rest cure in a vertical foxhole in Sicily." He leaned forward, chin resting on palm. "You have a nice holiday yourself?"

"Huh." Jeff scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Sure, it was a party every day in Korea. Hauling drunken sailors out of brothels."

"I should've guessed you were an M.P.," Whit said, shaking his head.

"I'm an upstanding citizen," Jeff agreed.

"I'm willing to put that to the test," Whit said.

"Fine by me," Jeff said.

By the time Jeff left, Stefanos had returned from wherever he'd vamoosed, bringing with him a fresh wax and polish of his hostile stare. Jeff rewarded him with his own favorite sneer, but it was hard to get properly into the spirit when he was feeling so damned pleased with himself.

"Only the best, he tells me," Jeff drawled at him.

"Yeah, well, the boss is a charitable guy," Joe shot back, "but even he has his off days."

Jeff took the hit, and shrugged it off. The also-rans of the Sterling establishment weren't worth the effort. They'd all still be stuck here in the snow while Jeff was sampling the booze of warmer climes.

* * *

> _"Can we get away with it?"  
> "Let's find out."  
> "You don't know Whit. He won't forget."  
> "Everybody forgets."  
> "Not Whit."  
> "So we'll send him a postcard every Christmas."_

***

From Acapulco, he booked himself and Kathie passage on a steamer north to California. Or, he thought in hindsight, Kathie sailed on the next boat, and the next boat took Jeff for a ride. Those days, he was in a haze, intoxicated by her attention focused exclusively on him.

Maybe he was happy. Maybe it didn't matter.

Sometimes he'd stop by the broom closet that pretended to be his office in Frisco, and he'd find notes in her sloping hand: "Mr. Bellingham stopped in to inquire about the background check." "Mrs. Lasko wishes to discuss her husband." She was never there when he unlocked the door. She wasn't his secretary, and he didn't want her to be. He didn't want her to have any contact with the sordid jobs he took.

He didn't know what she did during the day. He didn't ask, and she didn't offer.

Kathie drifted through his nights, her dark hair gleaming by the glow of the cinema screen, her face glowing softly under the buzz of diner neon. Down the dark streets beside him, she paced, quiet and poised.

In his memory, she's the muffled snick of a lighter, a plume of smoke, a flick of ash.

On the weekends, she always burned livelier, always rising first and waiting for him, coffee in hand, patient and smiling. "Let's go down to the bay, today, Jeff," she greeted him one Sunday morning. They'd been barely scraping by, that summer, but the seals didn't charge admission, and bums and millionaires alike could look upon their lounging around for free.

In the sun through the blind's slats, the ever-present silver earrings glittered. The pair of silver earrings from Taxco was a week's worth of groceries, and he'd have been happy to pawn them. He didn't know why they bothered him, distracting him even from her smile. He sat up and draped an arm around her shoulders, and asked, "Say," fingering the dangling metal, "I thought you said you never wore them."

"You gave them to me, Jeff," she said.

"I know, but--"

"They're mine." She glanced up through her lashes, eyes widening, wounded. "You want to take them back."

"No," he said, "no, baby. It's just that--"

"They're mine," she said again.

That afternoon, he watched her sitting upon the rocks, her feet dangling down toward the water, the breeze whipping her hair even as she tightened the scarf holding down her hat. He was reminded again of happier times on that far warmer ocean, far to the south. But unlike that shore, this one had a bank of fog rolling in.

"We should pack it in," he told her, rising from the grass and pulling up the blanket he'd been resting his carcass on.

"It's fine, Jeff," she said, tone lazy. "I don't want to leave just yet."

"Sometimes we don't have a choice," he insisted. "We don't want to get caught in this, Kathie." From here, either one of them could take a misstep into the bay, and they'd never even see the drink before they drowning in it.

"We'll be fine." She looked toward him and smiled, her teeth even and pearly. "Jeff, tell me something."

"I'm an open book, baby," he said. "Just climb up here, first."

"Oh, I only want to read a few pages," she said airily, swinging her feet into the encroaching mist. "How long did it take you to find me, in Acapulco? It must have been a while."

It wasn't a question he'd been expecting. "A few months. Why?"

"And Whit," she said, ignoring his reaching hand. "I'm sure he must have been feeling better by then."

"Sure." He wondered where this was leading. "He came through Mexico himself. I told you." He also wondered why she wasn't moving to climb off the rocks. By now, she'd become a dim shape a few yards below. "Kathie, you need to come up--"

"You wired him pretty often?"

"Pretty often," he said impatiently, inching his over the first boulder. "Kathie, you'll need to take this slow, make sure you've got your footing and your grip before you--"

"Jeff."

He stopped dead. He was certain that her voice was no longer below him but behind him. Now he was the one turned around in the fog. "Kathie?"

"Jeff," she said gently. "Didn't I tell you I'd be fine? You need to back off the rocks carefully. Then just follow my voice."

He gritted his teeth, but he followed her directions. Groping out into the mist, led by her voice, at last he latched onto her hand. "There," she said, tugging him along, "The road's back this way."

"What in blazes was that all about?" he demanded.

She didn't answer right away, instead tucking her arm securely into the crook of his, her hand grasping him firmly as we walked. "I wondered if you'd trust me," she said. "I know Whit. He takes a hands-on approach to all his projects."

All of a sudden, he didn't like the direction she was leading him. "Kathie--"

"It doesn't matter anymore," she cut him off. "You're mine."

While he thought about a safe response to that, she tightened her grip and added lightly, "And I'm yours, of course. It's just like here on the rocks. Nothing can happen as long as we're together, Jeff."

* * *

> _"Don't you see? You've only me to make deals with now . . . We're starting all over. I want to go back to Mexico. I want to walk out of the sun again, and find you waiting. I want to sit in the same moonlight and tell you all the things I never told you. Until you don't hate me. Until sometime you love me again."  
> "They'll always be looking for us. They won't stop till we die."  
> "I don't care. Just so they find us together. If you're thinking of anyone else, don't. Wouldn't work. You're no good for anyone but me. You're no good and neither am I. That's why we deserve each other."_

***

"Hurry, Jeff," Kathie urges him. She's speaking to Jeff Markham, the man who betrayed every flimsy principle he'd ever had for her, who'd ruined his life for her. But this time, for the first time, she's got it all wrong. He's Jeff Bailey, the man who knows there's no longer any reason to rush. He's already tied up Markham's final loose end, and he knows what's waiting for them down the highway.

Jeff slides into the driver's seat. He turns the key, he listens to the ignition grind. Kathie presses the starter. She smiles.


End file.
